


Critmas 2019 Tidbits!

by TheRuralAbjurer (zephyr42)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Critmas Exchange, F/F, Gen, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21983839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyr42/pseuds/TheRuralAbjurer
Summary: Merry Critmas! Have some hand holding, some fluff, some cuddling, some housework avoiding, and of course, it wouldn't be Critmas without some angst about death.
Relationships: Devan Bluebutton/Dren, Shaun Gilmore/J'mon Sa Ord, The Mighty Nein & Mollymauk Tealeaf
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: Critmas Exchange 2019





	1. Holding hands is great/Haikus are also real great/Don't die la la la

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingfromthevoid (astrifer0us)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrifer0us/gifts).



“Do I have to? I’m sorry, it’s just _so_ boring down there.”

The hulking figure opened the door, revealing a staircase that lead down to a torchlit hallway. “You do realize that when the order comes from the upper ranks of the Clasp, the answer to that question is going to be an unequivocal ‘Yes, unless you want to be strung up by your bowels and displayed in the Nest as an example.’”

Dren let out a whine, scrunching up her face. “Fine. I guess I don’t want that.”

“Better get a move on, then.” The guard jerked her head.

The halfling stomped her foot and proceeded down the stairs, not bothering to be quiet about it. The hallway was lined with a series of painted doors of various sizes, and she continued to the end, where a black door with a blue button painted on it was guarded by another hulking figure. This one did not speak, but stared straight ahead and opened the door.

Dren entered the room, and the door closed behind her.

The room inside was sparse. A lumpy straw pallet in one corner, a privy in another, and a small rickety desk and chair near the door. On the chair sat a halfling, looking dejected and miserable. When the door opened, she looked up through her dirty, stringy hair, then turned her head away.

“I told the last guy, I’m done talking.”

“Oh, umm. Okay, I guess.” Dren shrugged. She unhooked a bag from her belt. “I’m just gonna sit over here and eat your lunch, then.” She pulled out a sandwich and sat down squarely on the pallet. Something wiggled from beneath her and ran away with a loud squeak. Dren felt a stab of guilt which turned into surprise as the halfling on the chair gasped and ran over, pushing Dren aside and sifting through the straw. “Where’d she go? Stevie, are you okay!?!”

A stream of apologies coming from her mouth, Dren clutched the sandwich to her chest as she crawled out of the way. After a few moments of shuffling around, the other halfling pulled a large rat out of the straw, holding it to her chest and cooing.

Dren stared in disbelief. The grubby little rodent was squeaking indignantly while Bluebutton talked to it. If the two weren’t so filthy, it might have been… _cute_. Bluebutton’s large brown eyes were lovely, despite a black eye and bruising along one side of her face, and the mouse seemed plump and happy despite the poor living conditions.

“I know, she’s so mean. It’s gonna be okay, I won’t let her hurt you again.”

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know your friend was in there.” Ripping a small piece of bread off the sandwich, Dren passed it over to the other halfling, who took it and immediately offered it to the rat. The rodent took the piece of bread and nibbled it, filling its cheeks. And then, with a final chitter, it ran down Bluebutton’s sleeve and disappeared once more into the wall.

Bluebutton glared at Dren, making her face as mean as possible. “You hurt my only friend.”

Dren offered the sandwich to the other woman with an apologetic smile. “I am really sorry, Bluebutton. I feel awful. I didn’t know he was in there.”

She looked at Dren and down at the sandwich, then took the sandwich with a scowl.

“Well, I _am_ really sorry.”

“You work for the Clasp, I don’t care how you feel.” Devan took another bite and removed herself back to the chair, arranging her back to the other halfling.

“Hey, I resent that,” Dren stood, indignant. “I may be a thief, but I wouldn’t hurt a mouse. Especially one who hasn’t done anything wrong, okay? I only kill people who–” she floundered for words. “People can be horrible, but animals are too good to be treated like people.”

Bluebutton looked back, her eyes narrowing. Dren, despite a severe lack of experience, tried to appear earnest.

The other halfling gave a huff. “You can call me Devan. And Stevie’s a _she._ ”

“Oh. Thank you for telling me.” Dren bounced on her heels in the awkward silence that followed. “So,” she ventured, “Do you like poetry?”

“Want to hear what I like?” Devan polished off the sandwich and moved onto the apple.

Dren sat gingerly on the floor, patting around for vermin. “Yeah.”

“Not living in a damn cell just so you Clasp scum can get back at my creepy grandmother.”

 _Creepy grandmother would be a good ending to a haiku_ , Dren thought. “For what it’s worth, which I know isn’t much, I’m sorry about the state of the cell. They gave you one of the really gross ones.”

“Uhh, thanks? Not that it does me any good.” Devan put the apple core on the floor near where Stevie had disappeared and waited until the small rat’s beady eyes appeared. Stevie grasped the apple core between her teeth and dragged it into the shadows.

Dren saw the fond smile that flitted over Devan’s face as she watched the rat retreat and felt something like sympathy, immediately followed by panic. “Okay, well. Bye.”

Dren fled.

The guard stuck out her foot, stopping Dren and causing her to almost trip over the large woman’s boots. “You make any headway?”

“Nope, probably made it worse.” The halfling rung her hands. “I almost killed her pet rat.”

“Well,” the guard grunted. “Better find a way to make nice. Boss wants what she knows.”

“Yeah.” Dren’s frowned. “I’m working on it.”

  
  
  


The next day, she returned with even less enthusiasm than before. She had tried complaining to the guard. It was cold, it was filthy, Bluebutton was ungrateful, the cell reeked, anything to keep from being sent down again to face those scornful brown eyes.

This time, the guard thrust a broom and a bucket of soapy water at her as she descended. “You’re welcome.”

Stunned, Dren took the cleaning implements, trying not to slosh the water as the guard’s foot met her backside and she stumbled into the room,

“Oh. It’s you again.” Devan looked at Dren from the chair in the corner, puzzled. “What’s with the mop?”

“I, uhh…” the sorcerer put down the bucket and leaned the mop against the door to pull out the satchel of food and pass it over to Devan, who snatched it. “I thought it might be nice if I made your cell a little, you know. Nicer.”

Devan shrugged. “Whatever. Just don’t talk to me.” And she turned her chair to the wall and kept eating.

At a loss, Dren began to stuff the straw back into the pallet and bundle it into the corner nearest the door.

Dren found herself working through a haiku as she worked.

_“Don’t get the straw wet._

_Stevie deserves to be dry,_

_And so does Devan.”_

“I said don’t talk to me!” Devan turned around to find Dren scrubbing at the corner on her hands and knees. Her hair had fallen into her face, and her cheeks were flushed with the work.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize how loud I was being.” Dren averted her eyes, blushing harder. “I make haikus sometimes about what I’m doing. I’ll be quieter.”

“Why are you doing that, anyway?”

“I told you–“

“No. I mean why are _you_ doing that? You could have made me do it or something.”

“Oh.” Dren put her head down and moved on to a new spot, noting with a little pride that the grime seemed to have faded slightly from where she had been scrubbing. “I don’t know. I still feel bad for sitting on your friend, I guess.”

Devan stood up and flipped the chair over the desk, clearing the floor. “Oh, Stevie’s fine. I bet she’s forgotten all about it.” A warm sparkle lit her dark eyes. “Here, pass me one of those brushes.” The other halfling knelt down next to Dren and began to help clean. 

They worked in silence for a while, an awkward smile and mumbled apology when their shoulders touched or their heads bumped. Stevie emerged from the wall after a while to sit atop the bucket and supervise, causing an uproar when she fell into the sudsy water and was fished out by a concerned Devan. The rat was fine, just a little cleaner than she had been before.

Once the work was finished, the two sat atop the pallet bundled on the desk in victory, elbows and lower legs soaked in water.

“I think it looks better, don’t you think?” Dren said.

Devan nodded. “It sure smells better, that’s for sure.”

Dren counted on her fingers. 

_“Elbows and knees hurt._

_The floor is really clean now,_

_And so is Stevie.”_

Devan laughed. “That one was good! I liked it.” She grinned over at a furiously blushing Dren, who grinned back.

Over the next few days, Dren smuggled in a blanket and some fresh straw in her bag. Devan found herself being drawn to the other halfling against her will. Maybe it was Dren’s bright smile, or her reluctant gentleness, or perhaps it was just her proximity to sandwiches, but she found that her stomach did funny things and that her brain seemed to hold Dren in it longer than usual.

Dren found that she’d do anything to see Devan’s smile. She brought in increasingly dangerous things, an extra stool, treats for Stevie, and even hard lemon candies that Devan mentioned off-handedly at one point.

When Dren brought in a deck of cards and shuffled them on the desk, Devan knew she had lost. The sorcerer shuffled the cards awkwardly, her small hands moving in ways she imagined card dealers might do. The cards bent stiffly and the entire deck went flying. Cards went into the air, some landing on the floor, some on the desk.

Devan burst out laughing as Dren’s face grew redder. “Ohmygod, that was amazing!”

“I‘m so embarrassed. I can’t believe I did that. I’ll clean all those up.” Dren began to gather the cards back together.

“Hey, that was a haiku!” Devan handed back a stack of cards as Dren took a moment to count out the syllables.

“Oh my gosh, you’re right! I must be getting better at them!” The woman’s face beamed with pride.

Devan couldn’t help but smile back as she dealt them each a new hand of cards.

  
  
  


“Can I tell you something?” Devan asked her conspiratorially one evening. They sat against the stone wall, shoulder to shoulder, passing the wine flagon back and forth and eating some lemon candies Dren had smuggled in.

“You can tell me anything,” Dren said, stifling a sigh.

“I think once I’m out of here, we should get dinner. For real.”

Dren choked on her wine. “What, like a date? Wouldn’t that be weird, with this whole power differential and all?”

“Umm.” Devan thought for a moment. “I like you. I have fun with you. And regardless of _why_ I feel the way I do, I like you. A lot.”

“Exactly. You’re super cute, and I don’t know if it’s just because you’re, you know, super cute, or if I’m just falling for you because you’re nice to me, but I want to figure that out, you know?”

The two shared a smile. The torchlight was dingy in the dark cell, but they would both remember that moment as one of the brightest in their memories. 

When Dren left the cell that night, practically glowing, the guard gave a satisfied huff. “About time you made some headway. Boss will be pleased.”

The halfling forced a smile. “Yeah. We’ll have things underway in no time.”

  
  
  


The next week, Dren planned something big. She couldn't do anything really big with her magic yet, but she had a plan.

The food was the usual disgusting quality, nothing special, but she brought her own bag of seasonings, a small bundle of cheeses, and a flask of slightly better than usual wine. She made Devan turn around while she doctored the food, making it palatable, and opened the wine.

They chattered as they ate, Devan savoring each bite and Dren gazing at her, eating sparingly. When the food was done, Dren fluffed up the pallet and stretched out on its sad surface, gesturing for her companion to join her. Devan did so with an intrigued look, laying down next to her and sliding her hand into Dren’s. The sorceress stifled the torchlight with a wave of her hand, leaving them both in complete darkness.

“This is nice, but a little weird,” Devan giggled.

“I have something to show you.”

Taking a deep breath, Dren began to summon her lights, making them into small twinkling lights that danced in and out of existence, giving the effect of dozens of shining stars. She made the illusion of wind whistling softly around them, the sound soothing and soft. For a moment, the two were outside under the open sky, free and away from all that the Clasp held them to. 

Devan laid her head on Dren’s shoulder. “This is really nice. Maybe instead of dinner we should do a picnic.”

The sorceress was intent on her work, but squeezed Devan’s hand in acknowledgement. She held the magic as long as she could, letting it fizzle out after a minute, leaving them once again in damp darkness. 

“You know,” Devan said. “To really get a good picnic we’d have to go outside the city. Make a day trip into nature.”

“Maybe a weekend getaway?” Dren twisted on her side to face Devan, folding an arm under her head. Devan looked at her, and even in the darkness, Dren could feel her sad smile. 

“Where should we go, when I get out of here?” Devan asked. She shifted so they were facing each other, almost touching noses.

Dren thought for a moment. “Does it really matter?”

Devan slid an arm around Dren’s midsection, pulling her close and planting a soft kiss to her lips.

_“I really don’t care_

_As long as we’re together._

_I’ll go anywhere.”_

Dren kissed her back ever so gently, her hand making its slow journey up Devan’s arm to caress her small face. The sorcerer pulled away, rubbing her nose affectionately to Devan’s. “This won’t be easy. Are you sure this is what you want?”

Once she asked the question, Dren wasn’t sure if she was asking about the getaway or herself, but Devan’s enthusiastic _yes_ and subsequent series of kisses set her doubts about both to rest.


	2. Avoiding Xhorhauswork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eventually, Molly is *waves hands wildly* brought back to life. He and Beau spend some time in the hot tub in the Xhorhaus, catching up and avoiding housework.

“Nice ink, by the way.” He climbed into the hot tub and gestured appreciatively at the intricate jade lines on the back of her neck.

“Oh yeah, d’you like it?” She sat up out of the water, bubbles sluicing over her shoulders to give him a better view of her upper back. “I based it on that tarot card.”

His purple fingers, nails freshly trimmed and painted with gold, traced the lines with the curious pressure of someone familiar with tattoos. “Quite nice. Who did the work?”

Beau retrieved the open bottle of wine that had been placed strategically within arms’ reach and took a swig, passing it to Molly. “This guy named Orly, he’s the navigator on  _ The Balleater _ .”

“Ta,” he raised the bottle to her slightly before taking a hearty drink. “Gods, but it’s good to be alive again.”

The door creaked open and Jester entered the room with a twirl, leaning over the rim of the hot tub to give Molly a hug around his shoulders, then slid across around the tub and pressed a soft kiss to Beau’s upturned and waiting lips. “Yeah, Molly, we’re glad you’re alive again, too. You being dead was no fun for us, either.”

Molly gave her a level look, and she responded with an impish grin. “Come join us,” he gestured at the water. “We’re avoiding housework.”

It was the work of seconds for her to shrug out of her attire and tie her hair back so it wouldn’t get wet. “Fjord will probably be coming down, too. He had to go out and pick up some pastries for breakfast.” She slid into the hot water next to Molly with a happy sigh, putting her head fondly on his shoulder. After a moment, she drew back to comb her fingers through his dark hair. “May I braid your hair?” She asked. “It’s so soft, and it’s gotten quite long. Here, move forward so I can sit behind you.”

Not given much choice in the matter but happy to comply nonetheless, Molly inched forward and Jester settled behind him, running her fingers through his hair and combing out the knots. He winced, but submitted himself to her affections. The touch, albeit a little rough, felt comforting, and he liked how her soft murmurs and compliments made him feel pretty.

“The price I pay for my good looks,” he said wryly, taking another drink. She planted a fond kiss to his shoulder, and he preened. “So wait, back up a tick, what the feck’s a  _ Balleater? _ ”

The two women giggled. Really, Jester’s was more like a cackle.

Beau took another swig of the wine before responding. “It’s what we call our ship that sails out of Nicodranas.” She puffed out her chest a little with importance. “We get a cut of the proceeds, but the crew does the hard work, you know? Sailing’s not easy. We sorta sucked at it.”

“We talking about sailing?” Fjord came through the open door, closing it behind him. “Jessie, you forgot to close the door again. The hot air always gets out and makes it all cold in here.”

“Did you bring the donuts, though?” She twisted around to see him, accidentally pulling Molly’s head with her.

The purple tiefling gave a loud “Ack!” of discomfort.

“Oh, sorry Molly!” She tied off the intricate crown braid and patted his head apologetically before gathering up smaller portions to twist around his horns.

“Being alive is just as painful as I remember,” Molly winced.

Fjord dodged Molly’s opportunistic swipe at the pastry as he passed it down to Jester. “Of course I did.”

“Fjord, I’m very busy, you know, you’ll have to feed me.” She gestured with her hands, full of Molly’s hair, and her captive winced again.

“I’m not gonna fee—oh, fine.” He put his legs in the hot tub and sat on the rim close to Jester’s seat, gently tearing off a piece of the frosted donut and feeding it to Jester, who rewarded him with a beaming smile and batting her eyelashes before taking a bite. He rolled his eyes to cover his blush, looking around to change the subject.

“The, uhh, you were on a ship called the  _ Balleater _ ?” Molly prompted, saving him the trouble. Molly reached back and tickled Fjord’s foot in the water, and the half-orc gave a shout and kicked out in surprise.

“Not cool, man. So yeah. We, ah, requisitioned this ship after a fight,” Fjord went on, “and we had to rename it so no one got suspicious.”

“So you went with  _ Balleater?  _ Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been more proud, but that’s not precisely what I’d call a traditional name for a ship. ”

Beau shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Did it, though?” asked Molly. 

_ “We’re innovators!” _ Nott emerged from the back room, a jumble of iron and arrows and probably explosives in her hands, kicking the doorstop into place. “Also Caleb says if you all are going to avoid cleaning the house by hiding down here, you could at least let him know so he can do it, too.”

Fjord gave a pointed look at the doorstop and then at Nott, who made a face and shrugged at him.

“Won’t you join us, Nott?” Molly spread his arms. “There’s plenty of room.”

“Like hell I will,” she snarled. “You’ll never get me in there unawares!” She grabbed one of the wine bottles lined up near the hot tub and worked the cork free, spitting it out and taking a long drink. “I just wanted to let you know that if you’re going to do some bonding, you should really invite Caleb, too.” 

Beau snorted. “He’s literally hiding in his room with a sign that says ‘DO NOT DISTURB’, I’m pretty sure he’s doing his fair share of avoiding housework without our help.”

The goblin wiped some excess wine from her chin with her sleeve, mage hand-ing one of the pastries off Fjord’s plate as she walked out the door, kicking the doorstop off to the side. “I’m just saying, he’s a sensitive boy and he likes to be included.” The door to the upstairs slammed shut.

Jester finished off the second braid. “She’s right, we should go get Caleb. He’s been working real hard lately and I think he could use a break.” She frowned at her handiwork. “Also I think I need to get some flowers from Caduceus.”

Molly stretched his face, letting his tightly-braided hair settle. “Yes, let’s.” He finished off the bottle of wine and lifted himself out of the water, followed by Beau and Jester. Fjord stood up, offering towels, which were promptly ignored by the dripping troupe as they marched naked passed him up the steps.

“Guys, please,” he pleaded, unfolding a towel and holding it in front of him to cover Jester’s nudity as he followed her upstairs.

“Take pity on the poor man, Jester,” Molly said from the front of the line. “He’s done nothing to deserve such treatment.”

Jester turned back to wink at Fjord, whose eyes were politely averted. “Oh, alright then.” As they reached the ground floor, she took the proffered towel and wrapped it around herself. Once Fjord looked back up she winked at him comically. “Would you like me to stop teasing you, Fjord?”

He scrunched up his face and gave a small shake of his head.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell.” Jester’s eyes sparkled.

At the front of the line, Molly linked arms with Beau as they made their way to Caleb’s study, pounding on the door with reckless abandon.

A small explosion came from within, followed by a stream of curses. Jester and Fjord quickened their pace as they continued up the upper staircase to Caduceus’ tower.

“He’s learned more languages, hasn’t he?” Molly commented.

Beau nodded. “He only learns the swears, though. And the word for ‘cat’.”

“Seems only natural.”

The door swung open, revealing a wizard still in his pajamas and covered in soot. The study was filled with smoke. He pointed to the ‘DO NOT DISTURB’ sign hung on his door.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but did you forget how to read?”

“Nope.” Molly grinned wide, showing his pointed eye teeth. “Still don’t know how. She’s got no excuse, though.” He jerked a thumb at Beau, who didn’t even bother to look innocent.

“Bro, don’t take  _ this _ the wrong way, but did you forget how to shower? I thought we got passed that.” She swiped a single finger down his nose, leaving a trail of pink skin amidst the black powder.

The wizard’s scowl deepened. “You interrupted some very volatile testing and now I must begin my tests all over again. It will take much time to recreate.”

“So you probably need a break. Going to have to start afresh tomorrow, right?” Molly leaned in to whisper in Caleb’s ear. “The water’s fine, Widogast.”

Caleb’s eyes darted from Molly’s eyes to the intricate braids that crowned his dark head. “Do you think Jester would braid my hair, too, if I asked?”

Beau leaned back to yell up the staircase. “YO JESSIE, GET SOME EXTRA FLOWERS, CALEB WANTS HIS HAIR DONE, TOO.”

The wizard stuck fingers in his still-ringing ears, glaring at Beau.

A pale head emerged in the stairwell. “Are we doing a spa day?” Yasha’s small but excited smile was contagious, even for Caleb. She was slowly getting back to her old self, but recovery was slow, and there were still times where she would disappear for days at a time. She always came back to them, though, and her garden in the flowerbeds at the front of the house was coming along beautifully.

“Yes, and I’m braiding hair, so be sure to bring your comb.” Jester appeared, arms full of flowers, with Fjord and Caduceus close behind. The latter’s face was covered with mud, and he looked very pleased with himself.

“I think I figured out a mud mask!” The firbolg proudly held up a clay pot.

Beau tugged at Caleb’s sleeve to pull him back towards the stairs towards the hot tub. He followed slowly, starting and then smiling as Molly gave his rear a playful slap.

“We missed you, circus man.” The words were quiet.

“I know you did.” Molly rubbed his clean thumb against Caleb’s forehead until a clear spot appeared, and pressed a soft kiss on the pale skin. “Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

The Mighty Nein made their way back down to the hot tub together, Yasha stopping to scoop up a wriggling and protesting Nott from the apothecary workroom.

Once they were all settled in the hot tub, with Nott perched high on a stool, her face slathered in a thick layer of mud, the group began to regale Molly with their stories of  _ The Balleater _ . Between Jester’s controlling the water to reenact Caduceus’ capsizing of the enemy ships and Beau’s animated retelling of Avantika’s death and Fjord’s shudders while recounting the tale of the Dashilla, Molly found himself a little overwhelmed.

“I must say, I’m not entirely sad to have missed all of that,” he gesticulated broadly with his right hand, his left arm draped lazily around Fjord’s shoulders. The half-orc looked like some kind of swamp monster, green skin peeking through a layer of brown as he sank ever deeper into the water. Molly’s right arms was looped into Yasha’s, his head resting on her shoulder. “It’s a wonder that you left Nicodranas at all, from what I hear of the Lavish Chateau.”

“Yeah, well, it was sort of an accident,” Jester said with a shrug. “But it all turned out alright in the end.” She threw a chocolate at Beau, who caught it in her open mouth.

“Well, that’s alright, then.” Molly smiled and closed his eyes happily.

“Yeah,” Beau grinned. “Everything turned out alright in the end.”


	3. Kindred Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caduceus meets a druid while making a visit to the Birth Heart.

“Oh, cool. This is really cool, you guys.”

The tall, bony figure’s deep resonant voice is swallowed up by the rich atmosphere of green growing things. It is unclear who to whom he’s speaking, as he stands alone in the grove populated with worshippers and visitors, walking leisurely across the grassy expanse. The Birth Heart’s canopy branches out hundreds of feet above him, glowing fairy lights nestled close to the leaves. Despite the chill, the spirit of summer fills the space, as if every breath brings in new life. If this space were a cavern, his pleasant baritone would have echoed in its vaulted heights forever. But this is a tree, and instead his voice fades in the air with the rustle of leaves and the movement of chill air.

“This is just so  _ cool _ .”

Maybe it’s his look of unabashed awe, or maybe it’s that he kneels down and begins to pet the rich moss on the ground, or maybe it’s just that it’s the most refreshing thing she’s seen in a long time, but she laughs.

“It is pretty cool, isn’t it?” The druid approaches him, her mantle of leaves a dappling of autumn in the eternal summer of the Abundant Terrace. “First time here?”

Caduceus smiles up at her, his softly-furred ears flipping back and out in happiness. “Yeah. I’ve never seen anything like this.” He stands upright once more, leaning on his staff. He towers over her, even in his habitual hunch. She tilts her head, undaunted and curious.

“May I give you a tour?” She spreads an arm wide towards the Tree.

“Oh, gosh, yeah. That’s awfully nice of you to offer. I didn’t think they did tours here.”

“Well, they don’t,” Keyleth gives a half smile, “But I can tell you a bit about it, if you like.” She touches a hand to her collarbone in introduction. “I’m Keyleth of the Air Ashari, by the way.”

“Clay. Caduceus Clay. Of the Blooming Grove.”

“I’m not sure I know where that is.”

“It’s in Wildemount, in the Savalirwood, you know where that is?”

“Hmm.” She thinks for a moment, then shrugs and shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“Probably just as well.”

The two begin a slow circuit. Within minutes, Keyleth realizes that her knowledge is far outstripped by Caduceus’ youthful-seeming enthusiasm. She stops telling him what little she knows about the Tree and instead watches with warm bemusement as he puts his hand to the Tree and talks to it in a soothing tone. She can barely make out what he’s saying, but it sounds calming and kind, and it’s nice, somehow. Sometimes he stops to fluff up some moss that has been trodden underfoot by visitors. It’s a little awkward, but he doesn’t seem embarrassed, so she shrugs and goes along with it.

There was a time when she would have done the same. But years of grief and disillusionment have made her guard her passion for nature with what passes for composure.

“Oh, this is a big one!” Caduceus exclaims, delighted.

They reach a tall tree, some twenty feet across, and he puts his ear to it, smiling. His energy is infectious, and she tentatively puts her ear against the bark as well. She inhales the scent of living wood and takes a moment to listen.

The world seems quiet, then. The noise from the others walking the grove fades until it is just her and Caduceus and the tree. She hears the gently rustling leaves high above them, smells the promise of tomorrow’s snow, but these sensations pass through her until the only thing that registers in Caduceus’s slow, meandering rumble as he murmurs to the tree. Opening her eyes, she sees a soft layer of pink lichen begin to grow around his long pale fingers as the tree responds. His eyes still closed, a look of utter contentment on his face.

After a moment, they both step away.

“What’s up with the lichen?” she asks.

His cheeks blush a little. “Oh, the tree just likes me is all.”

She isn’t sure if she should be insulted or not. “It’s just that I’ve known a lot of trees and none of them have reacted like that to me without some encouragement.”

His gaze becomes intent on her, and the hair on the back of her neck stands up. It’s unnerving and curious, but not invasive.

He looks back at the tree, and the moment is over. She stifles a shudder.

“I think we talk to them differently. I often talk to them through Her, and not necessarily directly to them, if that makes sense. Me and the trees, we have a lot in common here because of Her.” gestures towards the Birth Heart.

“Oh. That’s very possible. There’s this one tree, near my friends, and we have full conversations. You kind of remind me of him, actually.”

“I think it’s great. You can spend countless years in nature and then one day out of the blue, you can find someone else who does things totally differently. I’ve met some druids before, but you’re really something else, Keyleth. Just something else.”

Keyleth blinks in surprise.

“I know, you thought I was younger, right? That’s okay, it happens a lot.” He gives her what might have been a wink, but he blinks both eyes instead.

“You’re just so… enthusiastic.” She tries to look less taken aback. “You must have seen some shit, though, right?”

“You might say that, yeah.” His face gives little away, but she sees his tufted eyebrows pull together and a shadow pass over his face.

“That’s cool you can still care so much. It’s hard, sometimes, you know?” She pulls her mantle close about her shoulders, and they continue their walk together. “My friends and I scattered somebody’s ashes over there.” She gestures to a point near the Birth Heart itself as if pointing out a piece of scenery. “This guy’s wife, apparently she was from here.”

“Really?” Caduceus is riveted. “I thought people here liked being buried, that’s so interesting. I’d love to hear more about that.”

“I mean, I think she lived in the City of Brass for a long time, she was cremated there. We brought her here as a favor to our, uh, friend.”

“What a nice thing to do. I work mainly with graves, myself.”

“Oh?” Her voice, she noticed, was strangely high. This conversation was not going where she anticipated.

He nods with a smile. “My family cared for a graveyard for many centuries. Gotta take care of them or they go all wild, and not in a fun way.”

“I can imagine,” she says faintly.

“Ashes make for great fertilizer, though. I bet she was glad to be home.”

“That’s good to hear.” And it was.

They are passing a copse of trees in the grove when Keyleth sees something out of the corner of her eye. Reaching out to a branch just above her head, she gently touches the fungus that extends from the body of a moth, softly camouflaged against the bark. “What a weird growth.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a cordyceps. It’s a fungal parasite. Eventually it will take over the entire moth.”

“Oh my god!” She draws her hand back in horror, wiping her fingers on her robe.

”From the inside out, usually,” he says absently.

“That doesn’t make it better, man!”

“It’s okay, it’s what the fungus is supposed to do.” He pats her on the back in a consoling manner.

Keyleth looks up at him, her eyes wide.  _ “That is so fucked up.” _

“So is nature.”

She opens her mouth to retort, then thinks better of it. After a moment she shrugs and raises her eyebrows in agreement. “I guess you’ve got me there.”

“For what it’s worth, cordyceps have great medicinal value. Good for coughs, clearing out the lungs, and, uh. Male reproduction.”

She gives a comical grimace. “I guess that makes me feel a little better? Like, it kills this little guy and we can use it to make ourselves better, maybe? I’m not sure it’s an even trade, even a little bit, but at least maybe something good can come of it? I don’t know, I still think it’s messed up.”

“Hey look, the cordyceps make it look like he’s got antlers. Just like yours.” Caduceus grins.

She gets quiet, then, and he worries he said the wrong thing.

“Your antlers are much nicer, though.”

“Thanks.” She gives him a half-hearted watery smile, one he’s seen countless times.

“Hey, are you cold? Do you want some tea? I’ve got some great tea. Maybe we can set up a fire somewhere and have some tea.” He starts looking around for some even ground.

“No! I’m pretty sure that would be frowned upon here.” She takes a deep breath, dispelling the unshed tears. “Melora’s worshippers don’t care much for fire in the grove, you know?”

“I do. Care for fire in my grove, I mean. But I can see how others might not be a fan, I suppose. Where can we go for tea?”

The druid jerks her head towards the city, and the two begin walking away from the trees and towards Vasselheim, chatting lightly.

After a few minutes, Keyleth stops in her tracks. “Have you ever been to Whitestone? In Tal’Dorei?”

He halts a little bit ahead and walks back to his companion. “Not yet, but that sounds like a nice place. Why?”

“My friend is there, The Sun Tree, and he’s really just, you know, super chill all the time. You want to come with me and I can introduce you? I think he’d be down for a tea party.”

Caduceus’s ears prick up. “Oh, that sounds like fun.”

“Great! Let me just. Hold on a second.” She beckons him over to a tree, and as they approach, its trunk opens for them, revealing a dirt path that leads into a paved town square on the other side.

“Oh, that’s neat.”

  
  



	4. Because Gilmore Deserves Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I imagine these two often having dinners and talking enchantments and innovations deep into the night. See end notes for further thoughts.

The plain-clad figure peered into the glass case with an appraising eye, long fingers hovering over one of the charms. After waiting for a few more moments in the opulent store without service appearing, they rang the polished brass bell, which rang with an odd intensity. Summoned by the ensuing sound, a tired-looking woman appeared from the jeweled curtain behind the counter.

She frowned. “Hello, how can I–oh, it’s you.”

The figure raised their eyebrows, bright pupils gazing at the woman. “I would like to speak with Shaun Gilmore, if I may.”

“Mmm.” Not perturbed by the customer’s unnerving gaze, she pursed her lips. “I’m afraid he’s very busy at the moment, you’ll have to come back another time.”

They straightened their posture to their full six-foot-something-ludicrous height and raised their voice ever so slightly. “I don’t suppose you could tell him that—”

No sooner had the words been spoken than the shining jeweled curtain swished aside once more, and a figure draped in rich silks emerged. “Sherri, take the day off.” He waved a hand, firmly but not impolitely. What might have been silver at the temples of any other man was gold on Gilmore. the years were aging him, well, _gloriously_. 

Sherri blinked in surprise. “If you say so.”

“Lock the door when you leave, we’re closed for the rest of the day.” Gilmore smoothed down his silk robes, eyes never leaving J’Mon Sa Ord’s bright gaze.

She gathered her things, a little disgruntled at this sudden turn of events, and left. The lock clicked, activating the rest of the hidden protections. The lights automatically dimmed, matching the twilight of the late winter afternoon outside.

“Please, come into the back,” Gilmore said, switching to Marquesian. He pulled aside the curtain, and the lithe figure followed the wordless direction making their way through to the dimly-lit sitting room. “It’s, ah, it’s been a while.”

“So glad you could make the time.” Their voice dropped, and when they looked back at Gilmore, their mouth was curved into a small smile.

Not for the first time, Gilmore was stunned by their countenance. Eyes like crucibles, filled with hot and molten metal gazed back at him. Their voice, deep and ringing as a singing bowl, sounded like a call home. The enchanter’s cheeks blushed lightly and he came back to himself suddenly. “It’s always an honor.”

The sitting room, draped in beautiful tapestries and filled with the smell of fine incense, would have been intimidating to any customer or supplier, but when J’Mon took their place on the brocade sofa, the surroundings seemed faded in comparison. They leaned back, resting a long arm across the back of the sofa. “I’m visiting the Council rather unexpectedly and thought I might pay you a visit.”

Relaxing a little, the dragon was surrounded by a shimmer of intense heat, blurring their elegant features ever so slightly. When they breathed, the air wavered, sending a thrill up the enchanter’s spine. Their brown fingers languorously traced the embroidered designs of the cloth, but their eyes never left the enchanter’s face. 

Gilmore retrieved the tea tray and carefully arranged its contents on the low, wrought iron circular table, stoking the small brazier at the center with a whisper and nestling the kettle on the grate above the bright coals. It was cold outside, a longer winter than had been expected in the coastal city of Emon, and Gilmore had taken to keeping his leisure space cozy.

This was becoming a tradition, it seemed. The two sharing tea and conversation and sometimes a meal, often for hours into the night. The topics of discussion ranged from trade to crafting to philosophy, and grew increasingly longer as time went on. Usually the two planned their evenings, though, often a year or even two years apart. This unexpected, though not unwelcome, visit threw off the cadence.

Once the water reached the desired temperature, Gilmore emptied an envelope of fine tea into the gleaming teapot along with the water, scenting the air with oranges. J’Mon took a deep breath and exhaled. The heat of the air reached the enchanter across the table like a soft wind across the dunes.

“I don’t know why I bother with the fire when you’re sitting right there,” Gilmore said with a laugh. For all the friendship between them, the man always found J’Mon’s steady and unwavering attention somewhat daunting, somewhere between flattering and feeling a little like an insect, pinned and mounted on a decorative bed. It made every bone in his body sing, flooding his mind with conflicting emotions and needs.

The dragon added a generous amount of honey to their teacup, adding the tea and leaning back. “The best tea in Emon is always worth waiting for.” They took a long sip and sighed with contentment. Gilmore raised his own cup to his lips and would have scalded his tongue if he hadn’t remembered his own humanity in time. He put his cup back down and moved to sit down on one of his plush re-upholstered chairs.

“Would you like to join me?” J’Mon patted the sofa next to themself and moved aside to make more room.

Something shifted in the air. Their eyebrows lifted, bright eyes inviting.

“Well, I don’t mind if I do.” Gilmore moved to fill the space next to them, feeling strangely small against their tall frame, despite his size, but as soon as their arm settled around his shoulders, he found himself comfortable and warm for the first time in months. He breathed in the soothing scent of the desert sun that clung to the dragon’s clothing, reminding him of so much he had left behind. There was no sadness that tinged his homesickness, just comfort and familiarity. The two fit themselves to each other slowly, Gilmore’s hand resting on J’Mon’s knee and his head against their chest, their hand slowly drawing designs on his shoulder, occasionally drifting up to stroke the side of his neck with the back of their long fingers.

“You still miss him, don’t you?” J’Mon let their question sit in the air for a breath. “It is difficult to continue on, after such loss. I do not wish to make you feel as though I am careless with your grief.”

Shaun shifted to look up at their face in the flickering shadows. “I do miss him.” His voice grew thick with emotion, and he took a moment before continuing. “But I missed him even before he died, and I’ve never been one to let mourning overshadow happiness. Neither was he.”

They pulled him against their side once more, and he rested against them a little closer, a little warmer. “Loss of this kind never grows easier. We only learn how to carry their legacy forward, lessening the weight.”

“Often, I feel that I’ve thrown myself into my work, my business, at such a pace that I haven’t had time to ponder what that means. To take what happiness we have and cherish it.” What would that look like, he wondered, to _choose_ to find happiness? Not just to search, but to be willing to grasp it and accept it? He loved his life, loved his craft, but he loved little else to such distraction. It took a lot to pull him from his work.

“Shaundal, you left your hometown decades ago to follow your own dreams. Do not let them be your undoing. It is always happiness for me to be in your company.” The voice rang low in the silence, the coals glowing in response. “It is a great gift you give me, and I treasure it.”

Gilmore felt the resonance of their voice in his bones, and felt his body, weary after a day of work, awaken. Some happiness, he thought, might be given freely. “I enjoy your visits as well,” he murmured, turning his head up towards his companion. “This one rather more than the others, I hope it’s alright to say.”

J’Mon, face filled with keen intent, leaned down until there were mere inches between them. “Yes?”

“Oh, yes.” Gilmore grinned in response, leaning up into the kiss.

The kiss was searing. J’Mon met his lips and pulled away to bring him into their lap, unearthly strong arms sliding around him and bringing him close. There was a moment, then, for all his magic and power and skill, where Gilmore felt it all fade and he simply felt very _human,_ and he knew he’d be a fool for pretending his companion was, too. And then the feeling passed and he only felt _safe_. He let out a soft moan as J’Mon buried their face into his neck, nuzzling the thick hair of his beard and dropping scalding kisses down his neck and collarbone. A firm tug at the nape of his neck and his hair fell free of its trappings, soft curls falling across his shoulders and back.

“Oh, That’s _very_ nice.”

J’Mon made a soft _mmm_ in acknowledgment but did not cease their thorough exploration. Gilmore tangled his fingers in their long hair, his well-manicured nails scraping across the other’s scalp as he felt his composure begin to melt away. His deft hands fumbling a little with enthusiasm, Gilmore untied his robe, baring his broad chest. “Better, love?”

The response came in his mouth being captured in another kiss as smooth hands pushed the fabric off his shoulders and skimmed down the soft, thick curls on his chest. Gilmore ran his hands on down their lithe shoulders and gently rested them on the dragon’s arms, softly pushing back for air. They watched him catch his breath with a heated look, filled with intent.

“I’m afraid I’m not–“ the man stammered under their gaze, all pretense of composure gone, “That is, I’m not entirely sure what’s going to make this as fun for you as it is for me, and I’d really like to. If you’d like to, that is.”

The dragon’s smiling eyes glowed in the darkness. “Give me your pleasure, Shaun.” They lifted his right hand from their arm and lightly kissed the back of his fingers. His eyes closed, and he sighed. They placed his hands on their chest, sliding their own up to cup their his face and give him another soft kiss. “It is a gift to me.” Another kiss, promising more. “I will treasure it.” He leaned in, then, returning their embrace with another gasped _yes._

The thought came to him with a jolt that happiness just might be embracing something new. And this was new. It was different, and lovely on its own. If he closed his eyes, he still felt as if they held him in their claws, close and precious.

Another few moments, another few garments on the floor, and then Gilmore remembered the existence of his bed. A half-second, an arcane whisper, and a brief flash of purple light later, the two were throwing aside pillows of various shapes and lush fabrics, divesting the large bed of anything that was not of immediate use until finally they could both stretch out against the other and continue their attentions.

And after, they lost themselves in in conversation for a while. In the future, neither could ever recall the soft words spoken between embraces or the whispers lost to the companionable darkness. But they remembered the closeness, the feeling of what now seemed like years of tension disappearing, the building reassurance of time and closeness.

It was a leisurely open to a new chapter in their lives, the first to close with untroubled sighs and sore muscles, and it was reprised in the future with increasing desire and even laughter, and, throughout it all, contentment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine that as this eventually goes on, Gilmore gets turned into a dragon, because as we all know, that would be *sexy*.


End file.
